


City of Archangels

by mutemelody



Series: a study in humanity [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels Don't Know How To Emotion, Biblical Inaccuracy (Probably), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e05 The Weaponizer, Gen, Michael's Trying, Protective Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Unreliable Narrator Lucifer Morningstar, a lot of headcanons, or communicate properly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-14 19:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18058424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutemelody/pseuds/mutemelody
Summary: “That’s not all of it, is it?” Michael asks, his voice unusually quiet.“The human, Uriel is threatening,” Lucifer admits begrudgingly. He doesn’t want to let Michael know of Chloe, but it can’t be helped. Lucifer needs to give a little if he wants to make this work at all. “She’s innocent. Icannotlet her life be payment.”He tears his eyes away, unable to look at him any longer.“Listen, I’m…” His voice doesn’t die for a moment, because he’s theDevil."I’m willing to make a deal for you to help me stop Uriel.”





	1. Chapter 1

Twenty four hours.

_ Twenty four hours. _

Practically a blink, when looking at his lifespan. A single day that could easily be lost among the uncountable amount he’s already lived through. Really, a mere  _ twenty-four-hours  _ should be completely and utterly inconsequential to the Devil.

_ “Either return here with Mom, or I’ll finish what I started with your Detective.” _

Twenty-four hours was so much more meaningful to the Detective to him, and now he has to decide if it will be her last.

It  _ won’t _ be - she’s much too precious, too valuable for him to lose her. Her life is not up for debate, and the fact that Uriel even dared to threaten her makes his fist clench even at the memory. He growls softly to himself as he pours more alcohol into his cup and practically inhales it. He can’t get drunk - his metabolism is too superior for that - but it still helps. 

He had tried asking for assistance, but that venture turned out useless. Maze just advocated for him to toss Mum to the wolves and Amenadiel was stubbornly unhelpful as he continuously stated facts that Lucifer already knew, before throwing in the fact that he was Fallen.

Fallen! _ Amenadiel! _ He’d probably feel some amount of satisfaction knowing his arrogant dick of a brother was as mortal as him if his only plan hadn’t relied on his strength.

He doesn’t even try with Mum - he already knows how  _ that  _ would go down.  She still fails to even  _ try  _ and see how much the Detective is worth. She sees humanity as those primitive creatures that just rose from the mud. She doesn’t  _ understand.  _

No, he’s alone in this now. Stuck in the pattern Uriel has doubtlessly already foreseen. A long, long time ago - back when he was still a resident of the Silver City, back before he was  _ Lucifer -  _ he had only seen his brother’s patterns as minor annoyances, something to preemptively plan for when planning out pranks.

He had accepted it then; they all had. You couldn’t escape from your pattern, not  _ truly,  _ so why really fight it? It had been harmless, then. 

But now it’s threatening the Detective,  _ the Detective!  _ That was the farthest thing from harmless  that Lucifer could dream of. 

No, he can’t let him take the Detective’s life, but he also  _ cannot  _ give him Mum. There was no way Uriel was acting under Dad’s orders - no, regardless of how much of an utter bastard He was, He would never threaten one of His precious creations, especially not one that somehow made him mortal. Him being remarkably more killable just made it more likely that he’d end up in Hell eventually. No, Uriel could  _ not  _ be acting under Dad’s orders.

Not that that mattered, when he had only  _ twenty four hours  _ to plan how to come out of this with whatever he wanted. He could hardly use the threat of Dad’s wrath on Uriel - he’d rather die himself than ever hide behind his Father.

But...the  _ Detective  _ is in danger…

Snarling in anger, he grabs his already-empty cup and throws it violently to the ground next to him, taking slight satisfaction in the minor act of destruction. 

Okay,  _ think.  _ He needs to  _ think.  _ He’s the damned Devil! He’s known for his skilled tongue (in many ways). He should be able to get himself out of a situation like this. 

_ Twenty four hours.  _ Much less should be left now. Why does time pass so  _ fast?  _ Why do humans live so fast? Bloody mayflies, the lot of them. They’re far too fragile.

And so,  _ so  _ very interesting. Curious to a fault, emotional to the end. How are beings that live and die so quickly able to  _ feel  _ so much? He’s been seeing Doctor Linda for so long now and he feels like he’s just as lost to the complexity that is human emotions and feelings as when he started.

Linda! Of course. He needed to think, so maybe she has an idea on how to get him to think faster.

He flips open his phone as soon as the thought registers, and he punches in the number that his eidetic memory supplies easily.

_ “Lucifer?”  _

“Ah, Doctor, so good to talk to you. I have this situation-” He starts, standing from his seat at the bar to go grab another glass. The glass crunches under his feet, and he makes a mental note to clean it up later. He doesn’t want a human coming in and hurting themselves, especially with his guests tendency to be rather  _ underdressed. _

_ “Lucifer, we don’t have a session today-”  _ Linda tries to tell him.

Oh, Linda. She thinks he’s confused about the days. He can’t really fault her; sometimes the quickness of human time escapes him. He’s marginally better at it than when he first came to Los Angeles, but there are still times in the middle of the week where he mixes up the days. It’s not  _ his  _ fault that humans count time down to the smallest minutia. 

(Really, they count even the bloody  _ milliseconds?  _ Were their lives that short?)

“I know, but a situation has arisen. A rather deadly one, I’m afraid.” He informs her, reaching for the bottle he was just drinking from. He’s running slightly low, he notices, and mentally adds another note to add more of this kind to his next order. He’s rather fond of this brand. 

_ “What do you mean deadly? Are you in trouble?”  _ He can hear worry in his voice, and even though he would hardly ever admit it, it does give him... _ feelings... _ at the thought that she was worried for his well being. Given, she doesn’t truly think he’s the Devil and therefore thinks he’s just as mortal as any other human, but still it’s...nice.

“Not me, and it’s a long story.” He has less than a  _ day  _ to find a way to both save the Detective and keep Mum out of Hell. Less than a day to find his way out of the ultimatum Uriel set for him. “Just, what should I do when I need to escape my own pattern?” There, that should be simple enough for his therapist.

_ “What?”  _ He frowns slightly at her confused tone. Apparently, it was not as simple as he originally assumed. What part of that was particularly complicated? 

Perhaps the connection was faulty. Phones were much less reliable than prayer-to-mind. They were two-way, though, and allowed for contact with humans over long distances, so he supposes their strengths made up for their flaws.

“How do I do something unexpected? How do I break out of my usual habits and do something completely new, something unforeseen?” He restates. There, hopefully one of them will be able to be understood. He wishes he could explain more, talk to her more about the situation, because he finds that talking to her helps, but there’s simply no time.

There’s a few moments where she’s completely silent - processing his question, maybe? - before she replies,  _ “Sometimes, in order to break out of our comfort zones, we need to understand ourselves more. Take a look at our motivations. It can also help to be with someone that you don’t usually hang out with. Someone much different than yourself.” _

Different from him? So someone boring, a rule-follower, and celibate?

Damn, if only Detective Douche wasn’t off the table. He’d be perfect for this. Amenadiel too, but he’d waste his precious time.

He opens his mouth to ask for a better, quicker way, when an idea springs into his mind. It’s ridiculous, stupid, and something that he  _ absolutely  _ would never do.

Which means there’s no way Uriel could ever guess that that was his plan, which means it might be exactly what he needs to do to save the Detective’s life.

“Brilliant! Thank you, Doctor. Truly, a great idea.” He tells her, before ending the call. Truly, she was an outstanding therapist. 

He takes a deep breath, and another long drink of the expensive whisky, before abandoning the glass and walking towards the balcony. Better to do this outside, where the bastard’ll be more likely to see him. 

He closes his eyes, puts his hands together, and  _ prays  _ to the one angel he thought he would never pray to. It’s painful and difficult, but for the Detective, he’d do it.

Damn him again, he’d do it.

There’s nothing for a few moments, so he lowers his hands. He knows he’ll come. It’s so unlike Lucifer that he’ll come just to see what would exactly drive him to the point where he’s praying to  _ him. _

There’s a rush of wind off wind off to his right, but he does not look right away. He’s content to just open his eyes and let his gaze rest upon the city he’s developed a fondness for. It’s noisy like Heaven and crowded like Hell but  _ so much _ unlike both of them.

He hears soft footsteps and the sound of wings furling, being pulled back into the body.

“It’s been a while.” The voice is similar to his, but slightly higher, and accented differently. Not the same as his, but the same as those he’s been spending time with.    


“Michael.” He greets in kind, looking at his twin. “It certainly has been.”

There’s a throb of betrayal, millenia old, that rises once more when he sees his brother. He and Michael had certainly never been the bestest of friends, but they had always been  _ close.  _ They trained together, flew together. Michael had even joined him on some of his minor pranks when they were just fledglings.

Then, naturally, Michael decided to give himself entirely up to their Dad, while Lucifer decided to rebel.

He can still remember the look in Michael’s eyes the day he Fell. How those icy blue eyes met his own, and watched him the entire time as he was punished for asking for something readily given to every single one of dear old Dad’s creations. He’d just stood there, steadily, the  _ perfect  _ soldier, the ideal son.

Anger rises in him, but he forces it down as best as he can. He didn’t call him here to start a fight.

“Uriel is on Earth,” He says, not having it in him to do any of his normal witty banter, or even cordial small talk. He can’t even look at his twin for much longer, so he instead looks back at the city and reminds himself of what exactly is at stake. “He’s threatening to kill a human if I don’t give up Mum. Claim’s it’s Dad’s orders.”

“It’s not. Father has told us not to interfere on the matter.” Michael answers. He doesn’t waste time, asking if his words are the truth or not. Michael’s always understood him, he notes bitterly. He always knew that his words were the truth and never wasted time questioning otherwise. 

Michael had always understood him the best, and then  _ watched him as he Fell, without saying a single word. _

“But why are you telling me this?” Michael asks, and unlike all of humanity, he  _ understands  _ what Michael is leaving unspoken.

He understands Michael, and he  _ hates  _ it.

“What, confused why I’m snitching on someone who’s  _ misbehaving?”  _ He remarks, unable to completely keep the anger out of his voice. 

Michael doesn’t react, the bastard. He always was controlled,  _ emotionless.  _ Dad’s perfect soldier. He was the rock to Lucifer’s flame. Lucifer had shined brightly, but even the brightest flames burn out. Michael, on the other hand, was a stupid,  _ boring  _ rock. Hard, sharp, and unyielding.

He really wishes he didn’t leave his drink inside now. Even if Michael would give him a disapproving or condemning look at it, it would still help. Not that he could necessarily get drunk, since the Detective isn’t around.

He sighs, “While I hate to be a snitch on someone exercising their  _ right  _ to having a  _ free will,”  _ He says, carefully stressing certain words, because he’s the  _ Devil  _ and therefore has the right to show off some of his anger. Michael doubtlessly expects it, if Amenadiel was anything to go by.

_ Evil,  _ his brother had called him, a mere five years ago, and that’s what he always would be called, wasn’t it? The Devil, the Prince of Lies, the Lawless One, Evil Incarnate. “I detest being threatened even more.”

He had felt trapped when he heard Uriel initially set up the ultimatum, and Lucifer  _ hates  _ it. He hates being trapped, hates his ability to choose being stripped from him. Hates how Uriel is threatening the Detective, like if she isn’t the most important human that’s walked this planet. Hates how Uriel is treating him like a  _ wild animal  _ rather than  _ his own brother.  _

But if his own flesh and blood sees him as a wild animal, then it’s only fair that he behaves as one. A trapped animal doesn’t falter, doesn’t waver, but rather  _ strikes.  _ And he’s the Devil, not some pesky mere beast. He’s the  _ Devil  _ and if anyone or  _ anything  _ wants to corner him, then they better know what exactly they’re dealing with.

“That’s not all of it, is it?” Michael asks, his voice unusually quiet. The Michael he remembers never sounded this...small. Unsure. He scoffs to himself mentally. He was probably told to come - because why would he otherwise? It’s not like he cares at all for Lucifer - and, while unfalteringly obedient, doesn’t know how exactly to interact with the opposite of everything he stands for.

“The human, Uriel is threatening,” Lucifer admits begrudgingly. He doesn’t want to let Michael know of Chloe, but it can’t be helped. He knows how to do deals, he knows how favors work, and most importantly of all he knows how Michael is. Lucifer needs to give a little if he wants to make this work at all. “She’s innocent. I  _ cannot  _ let her life be payment.” He turns to look at his twin, and for the first time in millenia, he really gets a good look at him. 

He’s tall, about the same height as him. Dressed in the standard regalia for an archangel holding such a position of himself. Not that ridiculous dress of Amenadiel’s that denotes an ambassador nor whatever Uriel’s outfit was supposed to be, but rather a uniform. An outfit made to be worn for a soldier. 

He looks into his brother’s blue eyes, looks over his light brown curly hair - not blonde, neither of them are, where humanity ever got that idea he has no idea - and the feeling of betrayal comes back wholeheartedly. He tears his eyes away, unable to look at him any longer.

“Listen, I’m…” His voice doesn’t die for a moment, because he’s the  _ Devil.  _ He’s not some foolish, naive,  _ blind  _ child of God anymore. He’s not an emotional wreck because his family was full of pricks and bastards. He’s  _ not.  _ “I’m willing to make a deal for you to help me stop Uriel.”

Michael is silent for a few moments, but it’s not entirely surprisingly. Michael was always quiet, thoughtful,  _ slow.  _ Always willing to make decisions for himself. Always so  _ deluded  _ with his faith in their Father.

“It’s a pretty good deal, if you ask me,” He talks, because he can’t stand the silence. Not between him in Michael. Not after everything. He talks because at least  _ then  _ he can still have some control over this trainwreck that has become his life. “You get to punish a disobedient angel - Dad’s pretty big on that, take it from me - and stop Uriel from taking a human life, which is a pretty big no-no, if I recall correctly.” He plasters on a fake grin - actions are not words, they are not lies - and looks at Michael and tries to push down how much his heart hurts, because he’s the  _ Devil.  _ He’s not only evil, but he  _ is  _ Evil itself. 

(He’s not, not really, but all of his siblings think so, so he might as well act like it.)

“I’d have to discuss the matter with Father,” Michael tells him, because  _ of course the bastard does. _

“What? You need to sit there and wait for him to give you some arbitrary sign that you can interpret in any way you damn well please? Or rather, is it that you just want to refuse but still have some sort of moral high ground over me, so you’re going to go sit somewhere praying even though you’ll receive only silence in reply?” He spits out. 

Michael opens his mouth to say something, but it must be something Dad would not like, because he closes it as well as his eyes. He takes a deep, steading breath, and Lucifer knows he’s probably praying for the patience to deal with his pathetic,  _ evil  _ twin.

“If He does not answer, then I will come back with my own decision.” Michael says, and Lucifer must have imagined it, because those words  _ could not  _ have come from his brother’s mouth.

“What?” He asks. With his  _ own  _ decision? As if he has  _ free will?  _

“If Father does not answer, then that means He trusts me enough to make my own call.” Michael explains to Lucifer, and he doesn’t know why, but for some reason the pain in his heart eases up the the tiniest amount possible. “And if he does tell me to refuse, then I will give you my answer myself. You have my word on that...Brother.”

Well, well, well, isn’t this a strange turn of events?

“You’re being...oddly amicable.” He says, testing the waters. He knows that most would say not to question a good thing, to not poke the snake.

But he’s used to  _ being  _ the snake, and knows that no good thing comes without attachments or hidden costs. All favors have two participants, two sides, two different desires.

Michael may be his twin, but he knows that their desires could not possibly line up that smoothly.

Michael hesitates, before turning to him. “I…” He says with such strong determination in his voice, and it's surprisingly how quickly it dies within the span of a single syllable, how it dies the moment that those light eyes meet his dark ones.

His eyes are pained, he notices. Not full of fury or anger that Lucifer had anticipated, but instead full of hurt and pain.

“Of course,” The words slip from his mouth without his permission in the form of a humorless laugh. 

Of course Michael still felt betrayed by  _ him.  _ The absolute self-righteous, blind, arrogant _ bastard. _

_ Of course. _ How foolish is he, to really consider for even a second that Michael might be acting like this out of-

Well. Nevermind that. He was obviously wrong.   
  
“I await your reply, then. Or would it be Dad’s?” He says, a faint sneer in his voice. “Then again, they always were the same thing.”

And without another word to his brother, to the twin that he once was inseparable from, despite their differences, he turns on his heal and walks back inside the penthouse. 

After all, the Detective had a new case for them.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael never shows.

_ Michael never shows. _

That pompous, arrogant, lying  _ dog.  _ He had given Lucifer his  _ word  _ that he would at least tell him his answer, and then he doesn’t even show back up?   


Of course.  _ Of course.  _

He’s a fool for believing in Michael. For putting his trust in the fact that his brother wouldn’t lie to him, as if they still held some semblance of their previous connection. He knows he’s the only one in their family that never lies, that abhors the thought of speaking something dishonest, but he would have thought that Michael at least respected that enough to tell the truth to him, even if it was a rejection.

(A rejection would have hurt less, because at least it would have been the truth. Painful truths are better than lies.)

But no, the bastard had to take Lucifer’s trust in him - the trust that was left over from when Lucifer still resided in the Silver City as one of its occupants, the trust that Michael had already betrayed but Lucifer still had because Michael was  _ family  _ \- and flip it the bird.

Mum had offered to go to hell. Mum had said  _ she would go to hell.  _ His  _ mother,  _ who doesn’t even know what the word  _ selfless  _ means had offered to go back to being tortured for the rest of eternity.

He had said  _ no. _ Because of  _ Michael. _

He said no, because Michael had given him his  _ word _ and so he wasn’t going to let her go back because that would mean Dad had won. He had said no because he still thought there was a chance both the Detective and his Mum could be saved from his wayward brother.

But no, he’s in the damn church now. Uriel has Azrael’s Blade, has prepared to wipe Mum  _ out of existence entirely,  _ and Dad must know which means Michael probably knows but he  _ still hadn’t come.  _

Of course, of course,  _ of course! _

He was such a fool, because somehow he had convinced himself deep down that the love he still held for his siblings was mutual, that they might like him despite being the Devil, a monster,  _ evil. _

Well, they didn’t, and that just shows he really is all those things, right? Not even his own flesh and blood care for him anymore.

Well, if he’s so  _ evil,  _ if he’s a monster, an  _ animal,  _ then Uriel did just make a mistake by cornering him, didn’t he?

He lashes out, but it’s too angry, too much emotion and not enough thought, which means it’s predictable even without Uriel’s abilities. The blows he does get in are incredibly satisfying, because he doesn’t have to deal with those human feelings of  _ hurt  _ and  _ betrayal  _ when it’s lost to the fury of a Devil scorned. 

“You’re lucky that I would never use Azrael’s Blade on you, Brother.” Uriel says, and Lucifer almost wants to  _ snarl  _ at him. Lucky?  _ Him? _ Never. Uriel just wants to kill him the good old fashioned way because then he’ll be back in hell and, without his wings, he won’t be able to return. 

His brother just wants to condemn him once more to his punishment of wanting choice, of wanting free will, of  _ wanting. _

Moments later there’s a familiar sound that fills the room. A displacement of air that’s recognizable instinctively because he’s heard it so many times.

The sound of an angel landing.

Michael is silent as he steps forward a few steps before stopping to tuck in his wings. He casts a glance at Lucifer, but when their eyes meet he immediately looks away, his face hardening.

Instead, Michael meets Uriel’s gaze head-on. “You must stop this, Brother.” He says, not a question or a plead, but a  _ command.  _

What else would one expect from the Archangel Michael himself?

Uriel’s eyes widen, but he holds his ground. “You know this is what is best for Father,” He tells Michael, but his voice is less cocky, less sure. Just Michael’s very presence has humbled him.

Because for all the talks of Lucifer - not Lucifer then, at least not in name - being their Father’s favorite before his Fall, Michael was always there as well. Always the one the surest of their Father’s will, always the one that spoke to Him the most even in His most enigmatic times.

Because if anyone knew Dad’s Plan, it would be Michael.

“If Father wanted Mother destroyed, he would have sent someone else. You’re not his champion, Uriel. You are not his chosen warrior.  _ I  _ am.” He takes a few more steps closer to Uriel, and this time Uriel does back away slightly, and Michael’s face softens. 

“Brother, you are a  _ watcher.  _ An observer. You are more a tactician or a strategist than a soldier. This is not you.” He says, his voice soft like his features are, and he looks knowingly at his brother, before holding out his hand. “Give me our Sister’s blade, and let us  _ talk,  _ Brother. I am not here because Father commanded me to or because He has judged you, I am here because we are family, and for the first time in eons we need to act like it.”

Lucifer slowly stands, confusion filling him as he tries to make sense of the scene before him. Michael...he really had made his own decision? Had had a choice?

He was here of his own free will, speaking of  _ family  _ and  _ righteousness,  _ and it’s all fine and dandy like Lucifer hadn’t been condemned for millennia for just  _ asking? _

Uriel looks at Michael, his eyes wide and full of disbelief, before he slowly draws the blade. His fingers tighten around the hilt for a moment, like he looks like he’s considering trying to off the archangel right then in there before he sticks out his arm and drops the blade.

“I just...I didn’t…” Uriel looks like he’s a second away from sinking to the ground himself. “I just wanted to gain Dad’s favor.” 

Michael smiles, and steps closer to his brother, ignoring the knife for now. “It’s okay, brother. It’s okay.” He says, placing a hand on the angel’s shoulder like it was natural. Like it was just a brother comforting another.

Like Lucifer hadn’t gone his entire time in the Silver City craving such care, such love, and simply had to deal with its absence. Had to deal with wanting love and receiving pain.

He looks away from the scene as if the entire interaction burned his very being, because him desiring it had caused  _ him  _ to be burned. To Fall. To be vilified.

He scoffs, but it’s unheard, and leaves the Church like a shadow disappearing with the sunrise. 

The only thing that eases the immense pain in his heart is the thought that _ at least the Detective is okay. _

The Detective, who doesn’t see him as a monster, or evil. The Detective, who treats him like anyone else. The Detective, who makes him mortal,  _ vulnerable. _

The Detective, who makes him something better than the Devil or an angel: human.

Oh,  _ humans.  _ Fickle creatures, aren’t they? They can be far crueler than any demon could imagine, but can also be kinder than any angel could ever dream of.

And it was simply because they  _ can  _ imagine and dream. They're born with that ability, unlike himself. He has had to learn it.

He’s been experiencing it heavily these past five years - human emotions. Humans survive for such an incredibly short amount of time, but somehow  _ live  _ so much longer than any immortal being has ever been capable of. They think and they feel and they use their free will with every aspect of their being every single second of their measly little lives.

And not only is it utterly  _ fascinating,  _ interacting with them, but also he knows that among them is the only place his siblings don’t dare to tread.

And so, he leaves behind the two brothers without a second thought, because no matter how much he longs in his heart that things could be different - not that he’d readily admit it - he shares no bond with them. Not anymore.

They're not like him. They don't  _ want _ to learn about the creatures of this world that have been able to survive and persist while thinking and feeling and  _ living _ as beings other than soldiers. 

They don't want to change.

They don't want to learn how to love in a way that they had never known even existed, be it platonic, or romantic, or familial. They see such emotion as weakness. 

Michael had shown him that, long ago. He shouldn't have had to be reminded of it.

* * *

 

It’s late when Michael oh-so- _ graciously  _ makes a stop at the penthouse. Lucifer is alone, having chosen to drown himself in alcohol rather than sex with several humans. It would be a nice distraction, but he simply did not want to interact with anyone currently.

Which is an oddity for him, because he is not one to ever seek solitude. He’s had so much of it thrust upon him that he despises it.

So, of course, the moment he enters this mood that is entirely unique to him and probably going to be a topic for discussion at his next therapy session, bloody Michael shows up.

“You needn’t stop by,” 

“I don’t think you’re evil, brother.” Michael interrupts, the words sounding bold, loud,  _ impulsive.  _ Everything Michael is not.

So what could it be but a lie? After all, Michael’s made it pretty clear that he sees Lucifer as something far different from a  _ brother. _

Anger flares in him, roaring up at the words as if they were gasoline upon a fire. He abandons his drink in an instant, turning to face the archangel.  _ “Don’t  _ lie to me, Michael.” He snarls, because even though he’s never met someone that has a propensity for the truth like he does, Michael has  _ never  _ lied to  _ him,  _ and for him to start-

Lucifer doesn’t want to think about it.

“I’m  _ not,”  _ Michael snaps back, which in itself is an oddity. “I  _ wouldn’t.  _ Not to you.”

As if everything he’s said, everything he’s  _ done,  _ hasn’t said the opposite.

Lucifer scoffs at his words, not looking at him as he grabs his glass and takes a swig. He can’t get intoxicated, unfortunately, since the Detective is far away. Still, the memory of being tipsy (for he hasn’t been able to get too much further than that - if the Detective is close enough for him to be mortal, then he usually has no time to get truly drunk) will have to be good enough for now.

(He’d rather be around Michael and unable to be drunk than have the  _ Detective  _ around bloody  _ Michael. _ )

“Not to Samael, maybe.” He says, looking back up at his twin, who despite his stoicism has a twinkle of surprise in his eyes. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t said my name once,  _ Michael.  _ What, like ‘venom of God’ better than ‘Lightbringer’? Like  _ avoiding  _ the fact that  _ Dad tossed me to Hell  _ rather than face reality? The  _ truth?” _

“It’s...” Michael’s voice catches slightly. It’s barely noticeable, but Lucifer hears it anyway. “...complicated.” 

“Sure it is,” he says into his glass, before taking another mouthful. 

“It’s…” Michael tries again, frustration and annoyance clear on his face, and if this was any other situation, Lucifer might take a moment to marvel at the fact that Michael still has yet to truly walk among humanity - has only experienced its profound effects secondhand through Lucifer himself - and is already displaying an impressive range of emotions. 

Suddenly, in a rare abandonment of composure that Lucifer has never seen on his brother before, Michael speaks his mind.  _ “What  _ is it you want?!”

_ “Me?”  _ He repeats, looking at him incredulously,  _ “You’re  _ the one showing up in my home in the dead of night for no bloody reason.”

“Because I can’t figure out what it is  _ you  _ desire.” Michael  _ snaps.  _ He bloody snaps!

“Worried about the Devil’s machinations, are we?” He asks, grinning at him with far too many teeth because he likes seeing his brother so ruffled. Anger leads to truth much easier than calmness does.

Unfortunately, Michael takes a deep, steadying breath, and continues in a much calmer tone. “Lucifer,” he says, forcing out the name as if it itself is laced with hellfire that could burn him if he lingers on the syllables too long. “I’m not...like you. I’m not good with words or what people want. I  _ act.”  _

“Well, keep your actions to yourself,  _ Sword of God.”  _ Lucifer sneers. “I have no interest in you interfering in my life.”

_ “You  _ called me here,” Michael points out, and strangely, it’s not quite a retort. “So I came.”

“Uriel is an  _ angel.  _ He’s  _ your  _ responsibility.” Lucifer reminds him.

_ “You  _ are an angel,” Michael says, and it is not the right thing to say.

_ “No,”  _ Lucifer snaps, glaring at him with  _ rage  _ emanating off of his entire tense form “I am  _ not.  _ You all cut your ties so I cut mine.  _ Samael  _ was an angel. I am  _ Lucifer.  _ The big bad Devil. I’m as far from being an angel as you can get.”

“That’s not-”

“Get out of my house.” Lucifer interrupts, eyes flashing red because his twin not only dared to come into his residence and  _ lie  _ but was also about to accuse  _ him  _ of being untruthful.

If Michael finished that sentiment, then Lucifer would  _ show  _ him how much he’s Fallen.

Michael, as if sensing this, give him a careful look. “Brother-”

_ “I am not your brother!”  _ He yells, throwing the glass on the ground violently with the shout that’s still not loud enough to hide his grief. Not that Michael could detect it anyway, the emotionless bastard.

The glass shatters on impact, fragments of the delicate material littering the ground between them. The light reflects and refracts off of the pieces in bright twinkles.

They might as well have been stars, so great the distance they span between the twins.

Michael is silent, and Lucifer just glares. “Get out of my house.” He repeats.

“I-”

_ “Don’t,”  _ Lucifer says sharply, and Michael’s mouth shuts obediently because  _ everything  _ the bastard does is  _ obedient  _ and  _ for Father’s Plan.  _ “Make me say it again.”

He then turns, as if he can’t bear to even look at the archangel anymore, and tries to forget that it’s because his emotions are so raw that even Michael could read them, read the grief, sadness,  _ loneliness. _

He hears nothing before the telltale sound of an angel taking flight reaches his ears.

When he looks, Michael is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is mutemelody.tumblr.com talk to me there


End file.
